Quiet Moments
by theoofoof
Summary: A collection of stand alone missing moments/post-eps for series 6. How do the episodes continue for our beloved Chelsie? Christmas Special chapter added.
1. 6x01

**A/N:** I think I'm just about meeting my self-imposed deadline to get this up before episode 2 airs. Spoilers for the first episode abound, so beware.

* * *

They stood embracing for a few moments before the sound of footsteps and laughter outside the door brought them back to reality and they reluctantly stepped back from each other.

Not wishing to lose the contact between them, Elsie reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Do you think perhaps we could settle the date now?" he enquired timidly, not wanting to push her or ruin their newfound understanding.

He had no need to worry. "Did you have a particular date in mind?" she asked, and the smile she gave him eased his worries.

"I was thinking sometime around Whitsun, if you're agreeable of course? That should give us enough time to make the necessary preparations and the weather may be better."

"The end of May sounds… perfect. But I shan't pin my hopes on the British weather!"

"We shall need to consult with Reverend Travis of course," he added. "Ensure the church is free and make the necessary arrangements."

"Perhaps we could take our next half day together and pay him a visit," Elsie suggested.

Charles nodded in agreement. "We can speak with him after the service on Sunday and arrange a meeting."

"That's settled then," replied Elsie. "Now we should probably re-join the others before they send out a search party." She hated being the one to burst their little bubble of intimacy but she knew that it wouldn't be long before they were missed.

Charles sighed; he was enjoying this newfound tenderness between them. "You are right of course, although I'd much rather stay in here with you."

"That's a little risqué for you, isn't it, Mr Carson?"

"Compared to the conversation I had to endure with Mrs Patmore, I'd say it's positively prudish."

Elsie blushed. "I am sorry about that," she said contritely; she knew how uncomfortable it had been for Beryl and could only imagine what Charles had thought about it all! "I just didn't know how to broach the subject with you. I promise, it won't happen again. Next time I shall just grasp the nettle and to hell with the consequences."

"That's reassuring to hear." He wanted her to be able to come to him; to share any concerns or worries she may have. "Now," he continued, stepping towards the door, "I wonder if you'd allow me the honour of a dance with my fiancée?"

At her nod, he opened the door and he escorted her out of his pantry… straight into the path of Anna. "Ah there you are. Do you have a moment, Mrs Hughes?" the younger woman asked.

Elsie had so been looking forward to her dance with Charles, but given the events of earlier in the evening, she found she couldn't deny Anna's request.

Glancing apologetically at Charles, who smiled back reassuringly, she gestured toward her sitting room door and led Anna inside.

* * *

"Is everything alright?" Elsie asked as the two women took their seats either side of the small table in Elsie's sitting room.

"Yes. It hasn't quite sunk in yet that it's over; that's we're finally free of this nightmare, but it will in time."

"I knew it would all come right in the end." It might be a little white lie; in private she had certainly wondered, but to Anna's face she had always maintained the hopeful façade.

"And that's what I wanted to see you about… to say thank you."

"You don't need to thank me," protested Elsie, but Anna wouldn't hear it.

"I do. For your unwavering support. Even when you disagreed with my decisions you supported me. And I know that keeping my secret put you at odds with Mr Carson."

Elsie flinched slightly at the memory. It was not a pleasant one.

Shortly after Anna had been arrested, Elsie had been unable to keep Charles in the dark any longer; he'd known that she'd known more that she had been letting on and had forced her to confess the details of the whole sordid event.

Unsurprisingly, Charles had been none too pleased at being kept in the dark.

They'd had a scathing argument, both saying things they didn't mean. They'd gone days without speaking – mainly due to Charles avoiding her - and there had even been a point that Elsie had feared that their dream of a joint business venture would be over.

In the end, she had cornered him in the wine cellar, standing between him and the exit, and confronted him. He'd admitted that his reaction had come from a mixture of disgust that something like that should happen to someone as sweet as Anna, shock that it could happen at Downton, hurt that he had been kept in the dark, and fear that something could have happened to Elsie when she confronted Green in the Boot Room. She'd squeezed his hand as he admitted the latter reason and had apologised for keeping Anna's secret and for putting herself in danger. He'd returned the sentiment, apologising for the hurtful things he'd said during their disagreement.

"Don't you worry about Mr Carson and I," she assured the young maid. "We're fine."

Anna nodded. They had clearly gotten past whatever problems it had caused; they were engaged now after all. "I just want you to know that I appreciate everything you did Mrs Hughes, very much. And I wondered if you'd let me help with the wedding… when you fix a date of course. I could style your hair on the day or help with the flowers… Oh! I could make your dress!" she suggested excitedly.

"Anna-" Elsie began, but her protest died in her throat as she took in the young woman before her. She'd not seen that sparkle in her eyes for so long – she couldn't deprive her of that now. "That… that would be lovely. Thank you."

"It would be my pleasure Mrs Hughes. Right, well I'd better get back to Mr Bates. We are supposed to be celebrating after all."

Elsie stood with Anna. "Before you do…" Anna turned to face her staunchest supporter. "I want you to know how proud I am of you. I've told you before how much everybody here values you but I think… well, let's just say that even though housekeepers shouldn't have favourites, I do."

A second later, Elsie found herself engulfed in a tight embrace as Anna leapt from her chair.

"Ladies' Maids have their favourites too," she admitted as she pulled away. As she reached the door she whispered, "You've been more like a mother to me than my own ever was. Thank you."

Elsie found herself quite overcome following Anna's declaration; she and Charles had discussed how they were like parents to their charges and she felt it more acutely with some, like Anna and William, than with others, but it never occurred to her that they might hold her in a similar regard.

* * *

Elsie found herself spending that much time thinking back over those who have come and gone from her charge over the years that by the time she re-entered the servants' hall, it's only inhabitants were Mr Carson, Daisy and Mrs Patmore, all seated around the table, the gramophone still playing softly in the background.

"There you are!" exclaimed Beryl. "Everything okay?"

The two friends share a knowing look and Elsie nodded slightly.

"Fine thank you. I just needed a few moments to myself." She looked around. "Has everyone else gone up?"

"They have, and I'm just about to go too," replied Beryl. Wanting to give her two friends a little bit of time alone together, she turned to Daisy. "Come on Daisy, I'd think it's time you were going up too… especially after the events of today."

Daisy didn't take the hint. "No I'm fine Mrs Patmore. -"

"I really do think it would be best," the cook implored," She gave a slight jerk of her head in the direction of the butler and housekeeper and Daisy finally cottoned on.

"Oh, right. Yes. Maybe it would be. Goodnight Mr Carson, Mrs Hughes."

"Good night Daisy, Mrs Patmore," replied Elsie.

"Mrs Patmore could have been a bit more subtle," huffed Charles, as Elsie sat down beside him at the table.

"Subtlety isn't one of her strong points," reminded Elsie.

"Is that why you asked her for help in your quest to discover if I wanted us to… have a full marriage?"

Fighting down a blush at being reminded of her actions, Elsie nodded. "That, and she's become a good friend over the years. Though I never would have thought that when we used to squabble over the store cupboard key. How times change."

"I've not always been comfortable with change," he admits.

Elsie managed to bit back a scoff. "Really? I'd never noticed," she smirked.

He raised his eyebrow at her cheek. "But… I find that it's not quite as unnerving as it used to be."

"Oh?"

"Perhaps because this time I can see there is a very good reason for things to change. Or perhaps that's just what love does to a man. Because I do love you Mrs Hughes… Elsie."

She gasped as the L-word left his lips. Mrs Patmore had mentioned he'd used it when speaking of her, but to hear it from his lips, twice in quick succession and followed by his first use of her Christian name, was more than she could ever have hoped for.

Her silence, coupled with the way she was wringing her hands in her lap had Charles concerned. "Are you quite alright? Have I said too much? As I said earlier I feel it's better to be honest."

"I'm alright; just a little overcome."

"Your hair is quite tidy if that's what you're worried about," he teased, standing before her. He held out his hand. "Perhaps a dance would help?"

Elsie had tuned out the sound of the gramophone but at Charles' words the lilting strains of a gentle waltz reached her ears once more. She placed her hand in his and stood, allowing him to enfold her in his arms.

As they swayed together to the music, her head resting on his chest and their clasped hands lying over his heart, she finds the courage to return his heartfelt sentiment. "I love you too Charles and I can't wait to become Mrs Carson."


	2. 6x03

**A/N:** So I was going to write a post ep for 6x02, but I got busy and then I was so blown away by Sunday's episode, that this happened. Hope you enjoy (and thank you to rhondastar47 for her help).

* * *

Elsie couldn't say for definite what it was that woke her, perhaps it was the strangeness of a new bed, or the unfamiliarity of sharing a bed for the first time in over 30 years, but more likely it was the loud rumble from the man next to her... Her husband… Who apparently snored.

'Another thing to get used to,' she mused, the quiet of the early morning allowing her to get lost in her thoughts.

There were many new things to get used to. Her new title being one of them. Several people at the reception had stumbled over her married name; she'd been referred to as 'Mrs Hugh-Carson' a few times at the reception. Lady Grantham had got it right with only a slight hesitation, and Mr Branson had announced it proudly. It had been lovely to hear, but none of those were as wonderful as hearing it from her husband.

 _After dancing the night away (she still wasn't sure where he'd learned to reel like that) they had walked back to their cottage arm in arm. He'd unlocked the door and ushered her inside, as he had on their previous visits. This time however, he'd stopped her just inside the doorway, with a gentle hand on her shoulder._

" _Welcome home, Mrs Carson." It had been the first time he had used her new name and it had rolled of his tongue confidently._

 _She'd beamed up at him. "It's been a wonderful day, Charles. Thank you."_

 _Charles had nodded in agreement. "I must say you were right about the school house; it was definitely the better choice. I was foolish. I should have listened to you; it shouldn't have needed her Ladyship's intervention."_

" _I won't say I told you so," Elsie had replied, although it had been rather tempting._

" _You'd be well within your rights too."_

" _Perhaps, but remember, love is 'not provoked,' and 'taketh no account of wrongs' or weren't you listening during the service Mr Carson?"_

" _I will admit to being a little distracted," he'd confessed. "There was this woman you see; I was quite taken aback. She told me she would look 'tidy' on her wedding day, but I found that description to be somewhat wanting."_

" _Oh?"_

" _Hmm. She looked absolutely glorious."_

 _Before she'd had time to respond to his compliment, he'd leant down and kissed her. A kiss that was like no other they had shared before. The passion that had been tempered and restrained between them for so long had been freed and Elsie had never felt so loved, so desired._

" _I don't want to press you but would you like to…" His gaze had flicked to the stairs and Elsie had blushed as she'd caught his meaning. She'd replied with a silent nod, not daring to speak in case she gave voice to the tumult of emotions running through her at that moment._

 _Taking her by the hand, he'd led her to their room, the basket of food provided by Mrs Patmore abandoned by the door._

 _She'd been nervous, but in the end, she needn't have been. It had been wonderful; Charles' caresses had been gentle and loving, ensuring that she was satisfied before taking his own pleasure. And, if she'd thought hearing Charles refer to her as Mrs Carson earlier in the evening had been heart-warming, it had been nothing compared to hearing her name fall from his lips in the throes of passion. She'd have happily listened to that sound forever more._

 _They'd lain together afterward, embracing and basking in the feelings of contentment that washed over them. Neither had been as close to another before; it was perfection… it was just as it should be._

" _Are you alright?" he'd whispered after he'd caught his breath._

" _Mmm. Very," she'd replied languidly._

 _He'd gathered her in his arms then and she'd fallen asleep with her head on his chest, the sound of his relaxing breathing lulling her._

Movement from next to her brought her out of her daydream and she turned to find Charles awake and looking at her lovingly.

She smiled as he reached to tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear before leaning over and giving her a small kiss. "Can you not sleep?" Charles asked, having looked towards the curtains to confirm his that it was not yet dawn.

"I did sleep. Very well, but I was woken by…" No, she wouldn't tell him what had woken her. Not today, not when they were still finding their feet. "Well, I don't know really, but then I started thinking."

"May I ask what about?"

"You. Us. Yesterday. I was remembering really. It really was a lovely day."

"It certainly was," he agreed.

"The night was rather good too," she replied without thinking. Her words only registered when she saw the look of slight shock on Charles' face, and she felt a blush rise up her cheeks and had to look away "I apologise. That was improper. I shouldn't have… Heavens, what must you think of me, speaking in such a way?"

"I think that…" he began, pausing to reach out and lift her head so she could see his face as he spoke. "I love you and you have no reason to apologise." He saw her eyes widen in disbelief. "I mean it. I'm also feeling rather…improper myself…" He allowed himself a smile and then added, "It was a _very_ enjoyable evening."

"Charles!" She slapped him lightly on the chest and giggled. He'd never heard her giggle before but he vowed to elicit that glorious sound from her as much as possible from now on.

She felt his hand settle on her arm, it still felt rather odd, as natural as it was, to have him touch her so freely. And the glorious affection in his eyes for her, so much warmth, that was odd too, to have it given so readily now.

"Would you like me to prepare your breakfast?" she asked hesitantly; these were new roles they were trying out and she wasn't exactly certain of the rules or what he'd expect.

"Not just yet, let's stay here a moment longer."

"What time do we need to leave?" The family had kindly allowed them a few days off - Elsie suspected Mary's involvement, and was grateful for it – and they were travelling to the coast that afternoon; to Scarborough.

"Our train is at ten past one." He did a quick calculation. "So I would think no later than quarter past twelve."

He'd given them a bit of extra time, fearing they may be accosted by well-wishers as they made their way through the village to the train station. He would have preferred to leave last night, but there wasn't a late enough train. He could hardly wait to spend a few days alone with his new wife; walking hand-in-hand along the seafront with her, maybe even taking a little paddle in the sea if the weather cooperated. Spending time together, learning new things about each other; things that could only really discovered now that they were married. He could think of nothing finer.

"We shall have to have an early lunch," Elsie mused, conscious that she was a wife now; she was responsible for ensuring her husband was taken care of.

"Yes, but we don't need to think about that yet." He began stroking his fingers lightly up and down her arm. "It's still very early, Elsie."

She caught the twinkle in his eye and found her lips being drawn into a smile. "It is."

"And we are awake," he continued

"We are." She swallowed, watched as he licked his lips, his eyes dark as they fixed on her mouth. "Can you think of anything you'd like to do to pass the time, Mr Carson…?"

His answer came in the form a rather passionate embrace that pushed her gently onto her back, as he showered her with kisses and unknowingly reminded Elsie that there were other areas of married life in which she could take care of her husband.


	3. 6x04

**A/N:** Well, there wasn't much to work with in last night's episode, but I've done my best to ix the issues I had with the tiny amount of chelsie that we got., I'm beginning to think I should change the summary of this story to "fixes for Julian Fellowes' mistakes" LOL

Anyway, I hope you like it. Do let me know.

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Charles and Elsie Carson, married for a mere 6 days, were returning to Downton. They sat pressed together on the train, not indecently but close enough that people knew they were together, married, as it rattled along the tracks; fields of green and yellow whizzing past.

"Are you sure you don't mind?" Charles checked for the fourth time that day.

"Charles, we've been through this and I'm perfectly alright with suggesting that I remain Mrs Hughes while working at the house."

"I know It's not ideal," he acknowledged, "but in the long run it may save on incidences of confusion and embarrassment."

Elsie nodded. She wouldn't say she completely understood why the family and servants shouldn't just get used to it; it was her name now after all. She was his wife… Mrs Carson… and was delighted to be so; she couldn't stop herself for smiling every time she heard it. But she didn't mind still being referred to as Mrs Hughes. It was a title she's earned, working her way up through the ranks, proving herself fit for the role of housekeeper and the title that came with it.

The thought of 'Mrs Hughes' never being used again had made her a unsettled her a little. Not so much that she would have suggested keeping to her maiden name, but she would admit to being a little relieved when her husband did.

Especially since, no one knew what the future would bring. Neither of them were naïve; they knew times were changing and there would be adjustments to be made and as such, their retirement was probably something they would come sooner rather than later.

They had spoken while they'd been away about the timescales and, much to Elsie's relief, he husband hadn't been as averse to idea as she'd though he might have been, commenting that it would be nice to stop working while they were still healthy enough to enjoy their life together. The very thought of him being 'healthy' filled her with thoughts she'd usually chase away, but not now, not now she was a wife.

"As long as I'm Mrs Carson in our personal life, I don't much mind," she told him.

"Then I shall endeavour to address you as such from time to time," he replied.

"As long as it doesn't overtake your use of my Christian name, as I find myself quite partial to the sound of that on your lips," she confessed, blushing slightly.

Charles placed his hand atop hers on the seat between them, stroking his thumb over her knuckles. "Mrs Carson… my Elsie, you needn't worry. There will be a time and place for every incarnation of your name."

* * *

Elsie watched her husband ascend the stairs towards the attics on the pretence of making sure all his belongings had been moved to their cottage. She knew this was going to be difficult for him; moving out of the room he'd inhabited for so many years, handing over some of hi evening duties to Mr Barrow. She could see the look of trepidation, of uncertainty in his eyes. Thankfully, her doubts about their relationship had dissipated with their wedding and honeymoon, so she knew his misgivings were nothing to do with her.

After a few moments to allow him a bit of a head start, Elsie excused herself from the celebrations and made her way to the servants' bedrooms. She decided to wait outside the door to the corridors, not wanting to appear suffocating, just supportive.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, as he closed the door to the overly familiar corridor behind him.

"What? Oh, yes I'm fine," he replied solemnly. He didn't want to tell her that he was finding leaving difficult, but it was hard to keep it from his voice and his eyes, and she knew him too well. His reluctance to admit his feelings wasn't because of masculine pride, but from a desire not to hurt her. The last thing he wanted her to think was that he was regretting his decision to marry her and her.

But Elsie knew her husband; she could easily read in his face and hear in his voice what he wasn't saying. "It's perfectly acceptable to feel a little sad," she comforted. "It means you've been happy here and not every person who's been in service can say the same."

"I will admit to being a little down. It's not that I don't want to move to the cottage with you… I do… very much," he admitted. Their eyes met and they both knew the other was thinking back to their honeymoon, of nights spent cuddled together after they'd made love; hardly able to wait to experience that again in their own home. "It's just been such a large part of my life you see."

She shook her head at him and reached for his hand. "Daft man. Of course I see. And I don't begrudge you a few moments of melancholy. It will pass though."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Yes. When we're settled in the cottage, I'm sure I'll wonder what I ever liked about my small room in the attics of Downton."

"Are you ready to go back down?" she asked.

Charles took one last look back down the corridor, saying a silent goodbye to the attic where he had slept for so many years, before nodding, exiting the space for what could be the final time; the feel of Elsie's hand tight in his, reminding him that he is beginning a new, exciting part of his life with a woman he has loved for more than a decade.

They spent the next hour or so conversing with their colleagues and the family and catching up with their news. Mrs Patmore stole Elsie away and the next thing Charles knew the two women were giggling together in the corner. Although he trusted his wife to be discreet, he was thankful that he didn't have to privy to their conversation and to take his mind of what they might have been discussing he turned to Mr Bates to get the real story of what had happened while they had been away.

Having heard what Thomas had done, Charles was furious but, not wanting to spoil their first night home, decided to deal with the underbutler tomorrow. He looked around for Elsie, she was engaged in what appeared to be an intense conversation with Anna; he'd have been worried if the two of them hadn't been smiling so much.

He tried to catch Elsie's eye, but was unsuccessful so made a quiet approach, not wanting to disturb their conversation.

"I think your husband wants you," Anna told her, spotting Charles approaching. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Come and see me after you've dressed Lady Mary. We need to talk about things… make sure you're alright."

Anna nodded and smiled at Mr Carson as she passed him.

"What was that about?" he asked, looking from Elsie to Anna.

"Anna was just informing me about a development that will require some adjustments in her workload."

She let her statement hang in the air for a few minutes, giving Charles a pointed look. His eyes widened as the penny dropped, his jaw falling open. "You mean… she's… truly?!

Elsie nodded and Charles' smile broadened. "It will mean some changes," Elsie admitted. "But I can't bring myself to worry about that right now."

"I know what you mean." Elsie looked at him quizzically. "There's an issue with Thomas," he confided, but it will keep until tomorrow."

"Home then?" suggested Elsie, wanting to make the most of their last day off.

His hand found the small of her back to lead her from the room. "As you wish, Mrs Carson, as you wish." The word 'home' had never sounded so appealing.


	4. 6x05

**A/N:** Okay, so this has turned into quite a long chapter - there was a lot to cover. I have no doubt that the cooking storyline will continue into the next ep, so this will probably be very obviously AU by the next episode. But hey-ho. Hope you enjoy (and that it makes sense). Thanks to _rhondastar47_ for checking it over for me.

* * *

Elsie Carson was fuming and quite glad that in the end she hadn't had to walk back to the cottage with her husband. She doubted he'd have made back alive if she had. Mr Molesley had been the one who had, unintentionally, come to their rescue by wanting to speak with Mr Carson. With a forced smile, she had told him to go, knowing that he would assume she would wait for him. But she hadn't. Instead she had walked back alone, at quite a pace, hoping that the time alone would calm her.

But she was still angry. So angry. How dare he humiliate her like that in front of Beryl and Daisy! She wasn't some kitchen maid to be scolded. She was a grown woman for heaven's sake.

She vented her anger by stomping around the kitchen, pots and pans clattering as she prepared their meal.

"I thought you'd have waited." Her husband's voice carried into the kitchen from the hallway.

Elsie didn't turn around. "Well I didn't know how long you'd be so thought I'd get back and make a start on dinner."

Charles shed his coat and jacket and made himself comfortable in the living room, reading his paper until Elsie called him to the table. He'd just settled into his seat when Elsie appeared.

"There we go." She put his plate down in front of him. A plate of uncooked meat, and unpeeled, uncut, raw vegetables.

"What's this?" He looked from the plate to his wife, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Well, as I am clearly incapable of cooking a decent meal with my "patty pans" I thought you'd like to try for yourself!" she snapped.

"I- I don't understand."

"Your little speech in front of Mrs Patmore and Daisy!" She was seething now; his obliviousness riling her even more. "Have you any idea how embarrassing that was for me?"

"I only meant to help you. So you could learn how to-"

"Cook. Yes, you've made that quite clear. I never claimed to be some great chef, Charles. If you'd wanted a professional in the kitchen, then maybe you should have married Mrs Patmore!" she yelled as she tugged her apron from around her waist and threw it at him. It hit him square in the chest, before falling to the floor.

Charles watched, astonished, as his wife picked up her own plate, the food on which was steaming hot, and stormed from the room. He winced as the door slammed behind her.

* * *

A couple hours later, Charles trudged up the stairs. Elsie had not reappeared and he hadn't dared to go after her; a mixture of shame at his own behaviour and fear of hers. He had made himself a meagre sandwich using the scraps he found in the fridge but it had left a bitter taste in his mouth. Barley a month married and already he'd upset his wife. Hardly a shining example of a loving husband.

He stepped into their shared bedroom to find it shrouded in darkness. Elsie was already under the covers, her back to the door and eyes closed. Charles slipped quietly out of the room, and readied himself for bed in the bathroom before returning.

He climbed into bed. Leaning over to place a chaste kiss on Elsie's forehead, he noticed the trail of tears on her cheek. Guilt flooded him. He needed to fix his mistake. To apologise.

"Els?" Charles whispered tentatively into the darkness, hoping that she was still awake. His mother had always told him to never go to bed without resolving an argument, something he hadn't understood prior to tonight. There was no response though. She didn't stir. Charles sighed and whispered into the darkness, hoping she might hear him regardless. "I could never want Mrs Patmore. For one simple reason. She isn't you."

* * *

Charles had planned to speak to Elsie the next day, but she had left for the house, before he'd even woken. She managed to avoid him all morning and the afternoon had brought last minute preparations for the visit of the Minister for Health, which would turn out to be one of the most memorable dinners the Abbey had every hosted.

The ambulance had been called and Elsie watched as Charles hurried away to his pantry. Mrs Patmore was right; he was visibly shaken. She'd seen it as soon as she'd clapped eyes on him.

Sensing her worry for her new husband, Beryl ordered her out of the kitchen. "I'll sort the tea. You go and tend to your husband."

"I'm not sure he'd appreciate it. We haven't exactly been on the best of terms as of late."

"All the more reason to go to him now. Show him that, despite his tendency to be a complete prat at times, you still love him."

Elsie sighed. She'd not been particularly warm to him over the past few days, and for good reason but seeing him so shaken tonight, it's made her see that for tonight at least, until they know the state of things, she must rise above it.

His pantry door was open a crack and she spied him through it, leaning on his desk, looking forlorn.

She slipped into the room quietly, not wanting to startle him. He knew she was there though. He always did. "Is everyone clear on what needs doing?" he asked.

"Never mind them; they'll cope. How are you feeling?"

"Me? I'm fine." His butler's mask was firmly in place.

Standing in front of his desk, she fixed him with a stare. "Charles, I am your wife, I know this has shaken you. Talk to me. Please. I know things have been-"

"It was horrible," he interrupted. He knew they needed to talk about the last few days, and his poor behaviour, but he couldn't have that conversation with her now, not after what he'd witnessed tonight. Perhaps he should talk to her. Was that what husbands did? He didn't know, but he supposed it couldn't hurt. It may even make him feel better. "It was all so sudden. One minute he was fine and the next he was on the floor and there was blood everywhere. So much blood."

He went white as a sheet, reliving the events of a short time ago in the dining hall. Elsie was by his side in seconds, helping him into his chair. "I need to go up- the ambulance."

"Just sit for a moment and gather yourself." She tipped the contents of his waste paper bin on the floor and placed it in front of him, should he need to be sick.

Charles took some deep breaths, and slowly began to feel more like himself. Lord Grantham was in the best hands and he trusted Dr Clarkson could do whatever need to be done to save him. It was the sight of the blood that had shaken him. Well, that and the fact that he had been reminded once more of the fleeting nature of this life. He was not a young man and he couldn't help but think, what if it had been him. Lady Grantham had been right there and her husband had been able to tell her how much he loved her. If it had been him, it would have taken Elsie several moments to get to him. Would he have been able to tell her? Or would he have gone to his grave leaving behind a wife who was angry with him? He may never have gotten the chance to apologise. To tell her what a fool he had been. He knew he must fix things. Tonight.

"Elsie, I-"

A knock on his door interrupted him and Mr Barrow's head appeared around it. "Sorry Mr Carson, but you're needed upstairs."

"I'll be there momentarily." He turned back to his wife. "Once we know the outcome of tonight's events, I think we need to talk, don't you?"

"We will," she promised. She had watched as a myriad of emotions had flitted across his face moments ago and had been overwhelmed by her love for him. Residual anger still hung on, but the fog had lifted somewhat and she could now see that they would find a way through… together. She reached across to give his shoulder a supportive squeeze. He gave her a grateful smile before slipping back into his butler persona to serve the family.

* * *

Once he had made the announcement of his Lordship's surgery, Charles glanced at Elsie, beckoning her with his eyes. She followed her husband out of the Servants' Hall and was surprised when they entered her sitting room, rather than his pantry.

"I thought you'd want to be on familiar ground," he admitted. "Your territory."

She sighed; she was tired of fighting. "This isn't a battle Charles."

"It's certainly felt like one at times. You've never raised your voice to me like you did the other night, and it's not like we've never disagreed before."

"You've never spoken down to me in front of others."

"I'm ashamed to remember this, but I'm sure I have, when you first became housekeeper…"

"But that was different. I wasn't your wife then." Charles stood quietly waiting for her to explain. He knew he'd hurt her, that much was obvious, but he wanted to understand how and why so that he wouldn't make the same mistakes in the future. "When you spoke down to me in your role as butler, it was in a purely professional capacity and eventually as our disagreement was resolved, the staff could see if I which one of our opinions won out."

"More often than not, it was yours," he conceded with a small smile.

"So you see, your berating me didn't really matter to them. They eventually saw that you had been wrong and would put it down to your dislike of change or exceptionally high standards, or that occasionally I had been wrong, so therefore I deserved your professional direction"

Charles thought he was beginning to understand, but he let her continue.

"But what happens between us as husband and wife, in our own cottage, away from here… they don't see that. They won't see who's right or wrong. They'll take your word because you're the husband and I'm expected to obey."

Charles felt he needed to interject, to address something that had been bubbling below the surface since the disagreements about the wedding venue. "Elsie I have known you for over 20 years. I went into this marriage with my eyes wide open. I never expected that you would suddenly become some weak, feeble wife, who bends to her husbands every whim. No matter what you may have vowed."

"But… it would be easier if I did, surely?"

"Possibly." It would certainly have prevented this conversation from taking place. "But it's not what I want. I fell in love with a proud, independent Scots woman with fire in her soul. Not some wilting, weak flower."

She smiled sadly. "I just don't want to be seen as a failure of a wife."

"One slightly undercooked lamb chop doesn't make you a failure," he asserted. "If anything, it is I who've failed you. I shouldn't have spoken in such a way to Mrs Patmore."

His words draw Elsie out of her own self-pity and back to the issue at hand.

"You didn't need to speak to her at all. I'd already told you I would." She and Charles had spoken, somewhat awkwardly, after their first dinner and she had admitted she could do with some help and had agreed to speak to Mrs Patmore and ask for a bit of advice. She'd been working up the courage to approach her once-adversary-turned-friend, when Charles had bumbled in.

"I was only trying to help. I sensed you may be hesitant to ask for help so, as your husband, I thought I'd save you the embarrassment." Elsie scoffed at his reasoning. "Well, that was the plan," Charles continued. "I suppose I've been so used to just saying my piece as a butler that I didn't stop to think that I am not just a butler any more. First and foremost, I am a husband."

He moved forward and gathered Elsie gently into his arms. "I am sorry, Elsie." He kissed her forehead. "Please forgive me? And rest assured, I will speak to Mrs Patmore and Daisy first thing tomorrow to ensure they know that I was wrong and to ensure that my words are not repeated to anyone."

"Thank you Charles. You are forgiven. And you've not failed as a husband."

"Nor have you failed as a wife," he repeated. "You make me happier than I ever thought I could be and probably far more than I deserve to be."

"You make me happy too Charles. We both been alone for so long, it will take time to adjust to this new way of living… to sharing our lives."

"It's worth it though." He dipped his head and captured her lips in a sweet kiss. "As soon as Thomas gets back, we'll go home. There's nothing more that can be done here tonight."

"I should ask Mrs Patmore for some bread and cold cuts. I only managed about a third of my meal and you ate even less. We'll be ravenous by morning."

"Just the bread will do." Elsie narrowed her eyes in confusion at her husband's words. "I'm going to let you in a little secret, Mrs Carson," Charles continued conspiratorially.

"Oh, and what's that?"

"I make a damn fine poached egg on toast. And I think it's high time I made it for you, if you'll let me?"

She was a little taken aback by the thought of Charles cooking, but then again, he'd probably had to end for himself on occasion when he'd been on the stage. "I should like that very much. And I'm assured that there's at least one area of married life I am good at. Perhaps I can demonstrate?" she purred, dragging her finger down his lapel.

Needless to say, Charles' poached eggs turned into a very, very late supper that night.


	5. 6x06

**A/N:** Well, after still not resolving the whole cooking business, Fellowes left me in a right hole. Suffice to say that this chapter is distinctly separate from the previous one and I hope not repetitive in the slightest - I did try and come up with a different take on the whole thing.

Thanks to RhondaStar47 for checking it over.

* * *

 **Chapter 5**

Charles was busy updating his wine ledger when there was a tentative knock on his door. "Come in," he called.

A nervous looking Mrs Patmore popped her head in. "Might I have a word, Mr Carson?"

Charles put his pen down in the spine of his book. "Of course, Mrs Patmore." The cook entered and took the seat Charles indicated, on the opposite side of his desk. "What can I do for you?"

"It's about Mrs Hughes, or Mrs Carson I suppose, since this is more of a personal… issue."

Charles blanched at her words. The last time Mrs Patmore had come to him on behalf of Elsie it had led to a very embarrassing conversation. "I see. Can I offer you a drop of sherry?"

"Not this time. Thank you." She didn't need fortification for this conversation. He'd been a complete idiot and she was so annoyed about it, her anger was enough to fuel her. "Tell me, Mr Carson, how long have you known Mrs Carson?"

"It will be 30 years in October," he said proudly. He smiled as he remembered their first meeting; she'd arrived at Downton in 1895, during a thunderstorm of biblical proportions and he'd answered the back door to find a young Elsie stood in the servants' yard, soaked to the skin.

"And tell me, what positions has she held in that time?"

Charles was confused by her line of questioning but the stare she fixed him with compelled him to answer. "She came here as head housemaid, and within a few years had been promoted to housekeeper."

Mrs Patmore nodded. "And in those roles what were her responsibilities?"

"Well overseeing the house and the staff I suppose."

"Cleaning? Polishing?" Mrs Patmore pressed. "How many beds do you think she has made over the years Mr Carson?"

As she spoke and her words sank in, Charles began to see the point she was trying to make and he felt like a fool. His words that morning had been ill-thought and had clearly upset his wife, if Mrs Patmore's current line of frankly bizarre questioning were anything to go by, and with good reason.

He hadn't explained himself very well at all. It was all a misunderstanding, as he was sure the cook would agree, but he knew better than to interrupt her when she clearly had something to say. "I've never heard any complaints about the sharpness of her corners before."

The cook paused for breath and Charles seized the opportunity to speak. "Mrs Patmore, I can assure you-"

"I'm not finished," she said firmly. "Her household management skills are not the only thing you have passed comment on." Charles brow furrowed as he thought back over the past few weeks of their marriage. "Her cooking?" prompted Mrs Patmore.

"I merely suggested that she ask you for help as she hasn't had to cook for herself or anyone else for quite a few years."

"No. What you did was embarrass her in front of her friend and a junior member of staff. Patty pans indeed!" Mrs Patmore threw up her hands in despair. "That woman loves the bones of you Mr Carson and you do not deserve her."

"I-"

"Fair enough, she might not be able to cook – not everyone can – but that does not excuse your comments. You do realise, I'm sure, given your vast experience here, the weight your words hold. The gravity with which a comment from you is received."

The realisation that he had caused his wife so much distress shook Mr Carson to the bone and he stood abruptly from his chair. "Why did she not say?" It wasn't like Elsie to be so meek and mild. If he'd ever upset her in the past, she'd let him know about it in no uncertain terms – albeit it be in a balanced and often timid way, until he caught up with her line of thought, often more sensible and effective than his.

"She's a proud woman, Mr Carson.."

" – I know that, and I respect her for that."

"Yes, but she's scared."

"Scared?"

Mrs Patmore looked down at her hands, unsure whether she should reveal what her friend had told her. "She doesn't want to be a failure in your eyes."

"She could never-"

"I don't know why but she believes she owes it to you to be the perfect wife. Now I never asked about the details of your arrangement but if you-"

Suddenly it all made sense. All the pieces slotted into place, her worries about his expectations, her need to be able to please him, and he saw the whole situation with startling clarity. And the realisation that suddenly dawned upon him was painfully embarrassing.

"Thank you Mrs Patmore," he said strongly, determined to put an end to this and find his wife. "I believe I need to find my wife and take her home. We have some things we need to discuss." He stepped out from behind his desk and retrieved his coat from the peg by the door.

"She's already gone. I sent her about forty minutes ago."

"She didn't say goodbye."

"No, she was a little upset after our chat, so I said I'd tell you she'd gone."

"You told me more than that Mrs Patmore."

"I hope you don't think I overstepped."

"You probably did," he admitted as he buttoned his coat, "but I think it was probably needed." Putting his hat on, he opened his door. "Good night Mrs Patmore."

"Night Mr Carson," she replied, following him out of his pantry. "And good luck," she whispered to herself.

* * *

He expected to find his wife sat in her favourite chair enjoying her newest book from His Lordship's library when he got home, but though the fire was roaring, the room was empty.

The creak of a floorboard drew his eyes toward the ceiling. He made his way up the stairs and was startled to hear a clatter followed by a strong Scottish curse from their bedroom. Gently he opened the door and was surprised to find Elsie on her hands and needs scrubbing and polishing their fireplace.

He took in the sight before him. She was red in the face, tendrils of hair had come loose and were falling into her face. She kept swiping her hand over her face to get them out of the way, resulting in a smear of dust and soot on her forehead. Clearly she'd been at this for a while.

He glanced at the clock that sat on her bedside table. "Elsie, it's almost half past ten. What are you doing."

"I'm cleaning," she replied, scrubbing the grate even harder. "I'd hate for my husband to think that standards were slipping."

Her words pierced his heart and he bent down and covered her hands with his, stilling her movement. "Stop. Please."

She let go of the brush and he clasped her hands, pulling her gently to her feet. Leading her to the bed, he sat them down on the edge. "I had a visit from Mrs Patmore this evening."

"Oh?" she squeaked.

"Yes, it was rather eye opening. She certainly put me in my place. In the way only she can." He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "Elsie, when I suggested we get the maid or the hallboy in to help, it wasn't a reflection on your capabilities."

"It wasn't?"

"Of course not. You're more than capable of running a house. I just thought you might appreciate the help. It can't be easy keeping our house and the Abbey. We work long hours, I thought it might ease the workload."

"I see. And the sharp corners?"

"I'll admit they haven't been as sharp as I'd like, but that's probably because we're rushing around, trying to get to work. Another thing that having a maid would stop. But if you don't want to… if you're happy to do it then that's fine."

"It's our house Charles. I've never had a house of my own to look after; never thought I would." She'd always planned on working until she died; she'd thought she would have to in order to support Becky. So now to have a home to call her own, something she'd never even allowed herself to dream of, well she wanted everything that went with it, including the hard work. "I like keeping house for you. And besides, I wouldn't want a maid in our bedroom. It's our space. Just for us. Private. But I shall try to sharpen up the corners."

"It's alright, I shall just have to learn to live with the curved corners," he replied, squeezing her hand. "Perhaps I shall like them more than the sharp ones, because my wife has done them."

"Charles…"

He held his hand up to stop her words, he needed to continue now, get it all out in the open. "Mrs Patmore brought something else to my attention tonight, and it's made me realise I need to apologise." He hung his head, shamefully. "I had no right to pass comment on your cooking. Especially not in front of Mrs Patmore and especially not Daisy."

"You have every right to pass comment; I'm your wife and it's a wife's job to make her husband happy." That was the way of the world and, although change may be on the way for the younger, more influential women, it wouldn't affect her.

"You _do_ make me happy. I've never been happier. It doesn't bother me if you can't cook-"

Elsie felt her heckles rise. She hadn't done that bad a job. "Who said-"

"What bothers me is that you didn't think you could tell me. We're married we should be able to talk about things."

"You were so set on the idea of spending time here, away from the house, I didn't want to dampen that."

"Is that the only reason?"

"I don't know what you mean," she replied evasively.

He took both her hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes. "Elsie, do you feel like you owe me in some way?"

She snatched her hands back. "How… Did Mrs Patmore suggest this… this… folly?" It was clear he had found her out, but she still didn't want to admit it.

"Does it matter? What matters is if it's true? Please tell me Elsie, is that how you feel?"

His heartfelt tone and the pleading look in his eyes, shattered the wall that Elsie had been trying to build around her. She nodded, as tears filled her eyes and she choked back a sob.

Charles put an arm around his wife and pulled her gently towards him. "Oh my darling. It's alright." He brought his other arm around her too, enveloping her in his embrace and manoeuvred them until they he was resting against the headboard and she was cradled to his side.

He stroked her back until her sobs lessened. "Can we talk about this now?" he asked gently.

She sat up and swiped her hand over her eyes, wiping away the tears, trying to regain her composure. "I don't see there's much to talk about. You have discovered the truth about me…"

"What truth?"

She stared resolutely at her hands in her lap, her fingers worrying the fabric of her skirt. "That I am a failure as a wife. That I bring nothing to this marriage with which to repay your generosity."

Charles turned to face her and took hold of her shoulders firmly. "Elsie Carson, you listen to me, because I am not going to repeat this. I asked you to marry because I love you and I want to spend whatever times remains to me on earth with you. I did not marry you out of a sense of pity or because of your financial situation. Yes, I want to provide for you, because that's my duty as a husband, but you owe me nothing. Nothing."

"But-"

"No buts Elsie. And as for bringing nothing to this marriage… you agreed to spend the rest of your days with me; a grumpy, old, belligerent butler, who's far too set in his ways. If I was looking for repayment, which I'm not, you would have recompensed me several times over by doing that alone. I don't know what I did to deserve you Elsie, but I thank God for you every day. You've given my life meaning."

She brought her hand to her chest. "Oh Charles."

"Now no more talk of owing or repayment, alright?"

Elsie nodded. She was still too overcome by his words to form a coherent sentence. It was a few moments before she could bring herself to speak. "I do love you Charles. I didn't see this marriage as a way out of my situation."

He kissed her nose. "I know. You're not the kind of woman to marry for those reasons. If you were, you'd have married Joe all those years ago when he asked."

"I couldn't possibly have accepted him," she whispered tenderly. "Not when I was already falling in love with you."

"For which I shall be eternally grateful. Now then, why don't you go and freshen up, wipe your face? And I'll put the cleaning things away and pour us a nice glass of wine."

"What happened to not drinking?" she asked.

"I fell in love with you over glasses of wine or sherry, and I think tonight, we both need reminding of that."

* * *

 **A/N:** Time for a shameless plug. Rhondastar47 (author of the amazing Easter Break) and I have started a collaborative writing project... a modern AU Chelsie fic entitled 'How Life Is' and we'd love you to check it out and let us know what you think!


	6. 6x07

**A/N:** Well, I can't believe I'm writing a thrid fic about this blasted cooking storyline but something didn't sit right with me after this week's episode, something which I've tried to address in this fic... the fact that Elsie lied to Charles. Directly lied to him. I've expressed my dispapointment with the way this storyline was handled on Tumblr but I still hadn't gotten any closure from it, so here I am with yet another way to try and fix things.

I really hope this isn't repetative/boring for you all. Apologies if it is. But needless to say it's completely seperate from the previous two chapters.

Thanks go to Rhondastar47 for checking it over for me... Happy Birthday hun! xx

* * *

Charles Carson was anxious; so anxious that he'd been staring at the same paragraph of his book for the last ten minutes but not taking anything in. He knew he needed to talk to her, to tell her that he knew, but couldn't figure out quite how to broach the subject. Eventually, he just couldn't stay quiet any longer and with a small sigh, he closed his book on his lap and leapt straight in.

"I heard you," he told her. She furrowed her brow in confusion. "Earlier, in the kitchen with Mrs Patmore. I know what you were laughing about." His tone was flat; he'd been ruminating on the knowledge all afternoon and the longer he'd been unable to talk to her about it, the more hurt he'd become.

"And what is it you think we were laughing about?" she asked, dropping her knitting into her lap. She hoped that he didn't really know; that he'd gotten the wrong end of the stick so she'd be able to placate him without embroiling herself in another lie.

When Beryl had suggested her plan, she'd gone along with it because she didn't know how she was going to take any more of her husband's comments, without resorting to hitting him over the head with a frying pan.

"You were laughing about me," he said dejectedly. "About the ruse of your sore wrist, which isn't actually sore at all is it?"

Her face fell; he knew and he was hurt… understandably so. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that if anyone had the right to be hurt it was her, after his insensitive comments about her cooking. She pulled the bandage off her hand. "No it's not sore. I didn't fall."

He let out a heavy sigh. "Why did you lie Elsie?"

"Because you'd been going on and on about my cooking; how the plate was cold or the meat was undercooked or I'd served the wrong vegetables or sauce. I was trying so hard and…"

"I know the reasons behind it… and I'm sorry if I made you feel a failure." Elsie was shocked at his apparent level of self-awareness; but she didn't have time to express this because he continued. "What I meant was, why did you not just tell me how rude I was being. That I'd hurt you? That you were angry with me?"

He tried to keep his voice even, but it was difficult; he was hurt and angry to have been the subject of one of her plots. He'd seen many of them over the years, but never had he thought that she'd focus one on him… not in this way. There had been the staff outing to the beach and the rehiring of Mr Molesley but neer had she lied to his face when she was trying to change him.

But there was something else, something that he hadn't thought much of until he'd overheard them in the kitchen. She seemed to be talking to Mrs Patmore about their marriage more than she was talking to him. He understood that they were friends and that she needed a confident, but it worried him how she seemed to prefer to speak to her.

"Because I find myself beginning to see a pattern. That excruciating conversation I was forced to have with Mrs Patmore before the wedding… before you'd even settle on a date. The plans for our wedding? What about the next time I say or do something that upsets you Elsie – which, given past experience, will be a more than likely occurrence - will you run to Mrs Patmore and plot and scheme to teach me a lesson?"

Elsie rolled her eyes. "Of course not." But inwardly she was cringing; embarrassed at his words; knowinh that they were, in part at least true. It was easier to talk to Mrs Patmore about her concerns than him. That way she didn't risk angering him or losing his affections.

"Well that's not how it seems. You never had any issues telling me when you thought I was wrong in the past; Ethel, Charlie Grigg, the war memorial. I don't understand what's changed?"

"I'm a wife now Charles… society dictates that I obey to my husband's will… that I make him happy."

Charles began to understand. She was a woman who'd been brought up in an age where it was a woman's job to keep her husband satisfied in all areas of life. To agree with him in all his opinions, to be told what to do. He'd been brought up in that era too of course, but then he'd met her, with all her attitudes, opinions and determination. And he'd fallen in love with her. Head over heels.

"I couldn't care less what society thinks. I fell in love with a fiery Scottish dragon, not some meek wallflower. I've told you before I don't like it when we're not in agreement but let me rephrase... I can only be happy when you are happy." He paused, allowing his words to sink in before he began again. I want our marriage to be one of equals, of partnership, but I'm not a mind-reader Elsie; you need to talk to me. We need to talk to each other. I should have told you sooner that I loved you, and that my love for you was _because_ of your fire not in spite of it."

Charles reached across for her hand, clasping it in his and interlacing their fingers. He needed her to know that despite her worries, her fears, that he was not disappointed in her or angry with her.

"I'm sorry I lied Charles," she whispered. "I don't know what came over me. I had convinced myself that this was the only way to get you to understand."

"Well I think it's safe to say, I definitely understand now. I found it quite stressful."

She felt even guiltier then, if it were possible; that she'd taken pleasure in watching him bumble around the kitchen, tiring himself out. She had experienced an odd feeling, when he'd dozed off during his dessert, a surge of love and affection tinged with a hint of shame.

"So did I," she told him. "I'd not cooked in over thirty years and never for anyone with as high standards as yours."

"I'm sorry that I was rude and that I implied your efforts weren't good enough. We don't have to eat at the cottage anymore, if you don't wish to. And I wouldn't blame you; I should eat naught but bread and water for the next week."

"I don't think that's quiet necessary," she told him with a gentle smile. "I like spending time here, in our cottage with you, away from the hustle and bustle of the Abbey."

"I like it too," he agreed, his voice soft and low in the firelight. "It was why I suggested it in the first place. I missed having you all to myself when we returned from Scarborough."

"Then we shall continue to eat here on occasion," Elsie decided. "But I think I'll ask Mrs Patmore to make us a pie of some sort – I'll pay for any extra ingredients needed – I think even I can manage not to ruin a pie."

They both smiled at her words and he gave her hand a squeeze as a contented silence filled the room.

"Charles?" she whispered after a few moments.

"Hmmm?"

She glanced at him, he was leaning back in his chair, eyes closed but not asleep; just enjoying the quiet; the calmness of them being back in agreement. "There's a simple way to resolve the issue of 'having me all to yourself'," she continued, fighting down a blush at the implication of her words.

"Is there?" Elsie bit her lip; not wanting to shatter their new found peace.

Charles sensed her apprehension. "Elsie, we agreed – we have to talk to each other. Tell me. Please?"

She nodded and, taking a breath said, "Perhaps we should start thinking about retirement."

Charles considered her words for a moment, as if weighing up the arguments for and against, before turning to face her. He lifted her hand to his mouth and gently kissed the back of it. "Perhaps we should."


	7. 6x09: The Finale

**A/N:** Here we go, my thoughts/reflections/additional bits from the finale. I should probably remind you that these fics for each episode are stand alones. They don't follow on, so you don't need to read the rest to understand this (although I'd love it if you did). You just need to have seen the ep... probably. Please review and let me know what you think...

* * *

 **Chapter 7**

The first time she'd noticed it, she hadn't paid it much attention, she'd had her mind on other things; the feel of his feather-light touch against her skin, her deepening arousal. She'd assumed he always trembled when he touched her intimately but that on previous occasions she'd been too absorbed in the new feelings and desires to notice.

The second time, it had been a chilly evening and they hadn't been home long; the fire only just lit and barely warming the hearth. She'd assumed it was just a shiver, a protest against the cold air.

But it began to happen more often, not all the time but with increasing frequency until that afternoon in the kitchen with the tea cup, when she could hide her fears, questions and concerns no more.

She should have known he'd deny it, although she wasn't fooled for a moment at his attempts to put her off. Just as he hadn't been fooled five years ago when she'd had her own health scare. She understood his reasons, his pride, not wanting to be seen as weak or infirm – they were the same reasons she had had for keeping her own possible mortality a secret – but things are different now, as she tells him. She is his wife, she loves him, he can confide in her, tell her his secrets.

Only he can't, not now anyway because, as usual, they are interrupted; business of the house infringing on their conversation. She doesn't begrudge her job; she's grateful for it, it helps provide for Becky, gives her status and led her to her husband. But still sometimes she wonders if it's too much to ask for a bit of peace to have a decent conversation.

* * *

He hadn't wanted her to know. But now that she does know, he wonders why he didn't tell her in the first place. Part of it had been not wanting to admit to himself that something was wrong, but the other was not wanting to worry her. He didn't want her to think he was a drunkard or scared of his impending old age. It wasn't either of those things. He knew what was happening to him, he'd seen it happen to his father and his grandfather before him; seen them struggle with even the most basic tasks in the end. He hadn't wanted to burden her, cause her heartache or pain. He'd done enough of that since they were married, with his attitude towards her cooking and his curmudgeonly ways.

But of course, she'd noticed. It had been foolish of him to think she wouldn't. Not with her keen eye for detail (which was almost, if not exactly, as good as his). He had tried to hide it, grabbing onto the offending hand and hiding it behind his desk. She'd seen right though him of course though she hadn't pushed it.

After spilling the wine in front of Lady Mary, Mr Talbot and Mr Branson, he has no choice but to come clean, if only to save her wasting the good Doctor's time. Ignorance isn't bliss, she says. Oh but how he wishes it was.

He tells her he knows what is happening to him; opens up about his family, how this shaking isn't even a proper condition, yet had managed to finish the career of both his father and paternal grandfather. He fears it will be the same for him, deep down he knows it will be, eventually. What will become of him then, a butler without a house. He'll be useless.

She doesn't have chance to respond to his confession, a knock on the door interrupting them. If it had been anyone other than a member of the family, he'd have told them to clear off, but it was Lady Mary and propriety dictates that he should welcome her. Part of him hopes Elsie would stay, but knows she won't. The tears in her eyes tell him as much; she needs time to herself, to process all that he has told her. So he lets her go and tries to convince Lady Mary, and to some extent himself, that nothing is wrong, that he is still the man he used to be.

* * *

With a heavy heart, Charles knocks once on the door to his wife's sitting room and then enters without waiting for her summons. As butler he needs to speak to the housekeeper, but more than that, as a man he needs to speak to his wife, needs her comfort and reassurance. The scene at dinner had been excruciatingly painful for him, but he'd known that if he'd tried to pour the wine he would've spilt it, which would have made even more of a scene.

Elsie turns her chair round to face him and know instinctively that something isn't right. He is downcast, almost defeated.

She stands, moving towards him. "Is everything alright?"

"I think the time has come," he says solemnly.

She knows what he is referring to; they'd discussed it at length several times since the onset of his condition. They'd agreed to wait and see how it progressed, but something has clearly changed. "What's happened?" she asks, moving to sit at her small table. He follows, sitting opposite her

"His Lordship asked for more wine, but I," he swallows, emotion almost getting the better of his and Elsie's heart aches for him. She places her hand over his, where it sits atop the lace tablecloth. "I couldn't pour it," he continues. "I could feel my hand shaking, just stood there, so I didn't even try. I delegated the duty to Andrew but I could tell His Lordship wasn't pleased."

"Did he say something?" The thought of someone being cruel to him, her husband, whatever their status or position of power makes her Scottish temper flare.

Charles shakes his head. "He was just…" he shrugs, "put-out, I suppose, is the best way of describing it." He looks down at their hands, resting on the table, "I know we agreed to wait until it could no longer be avoided… well I believe we're there. I've never been one to allow standards to slip, so I must face up to what needs to happen."

Elsie nods; she'd known it would have to come to this, they both had. Charles had told her there was no cure, and this was echoed by Doctor Clarkson when she'd dragged Charles to an appointment anyway, wanting a valid medical opinion. She was just glad that this was Charles' decision, that he was making it before someone else found reason to make it for him.

She pats his hand lightly. "When will you tell His Lordship?"

"I'll go up before they retire tonight, ask if I might have a moment of his time."

"Do you want me to come with you?" she asks, fully expecting his refusal. Still, she is his wife and she will offer to be there for him, should he need her.

"No. Thank you. I think this is something I need to do alone." He turns his hand over in hers and interlaces their fingers. "But I do appreciate the offer."

As it turns out, His Lordship and Lady Mary come to him, but the conversation is the same. She enters, not expecting any of them to be in there and stays at Lord Grantham's insistent, but not to 'talk some sense into her husband' as he requests. Charles is grateful for her presence; he feels stronger, calmer, at peace having her by his side.

* * *

"Are you alright Charlie?" Elsie asks as the step through the green baize door, away from Lady Edith's reception. His Lordship's solution may work on paper, but given her husband's history with Mr Barrow, she's not sure how he will feel.

"I feel a fool," he replies, halting his step before reaching the first stair.

"What on earth for?"

"My outburst. Such language should be beneath someone in my position."

"Nonsense," she replies with a wave of her hand. "We're all entitled to show a bit of emotion every now and then."

"Not at the wedding reception of Marquis and Marchioness," he replies, despondently.

Elsie tries a different tack. "Hardly anyone saw and even-"

"His Lordship and Lady Mary did. What must they have thought?"

"They were nothing but concerned, Charlie. I'll admit, I'm not always the first to defend them, but they do care about you, I'll give them that. Neither of them want you to leave, you know but– "

The sound of the baize door opening halts their conversation, and he gestures down the stairs. They fall into step quickly,

"His Lordship's found a solution," she continues as they reach her sitting room. "One that can work for everyone." They enter and she closes the door behind them. "You will no longer need to feel that you can't live up to the Abbey's standards, Mr Barrow will have you on hand when he feels unsure or overwhelmed…"

Charles raises an eyebrow at her – are they talking about the same person? He can't ever imagine Mr Barrow admitting to feeling like that.

"…don't give me that look," she continues. "No matter how much he wants to be butler, or how well trained he is, there'll still be moments when he needs your advice. And with us staying in our cottage, you'll still be on the estate and Lady Mary won't need to fear losing you, her staunchest supporter."

"I hardly think I'm…"

It's Elsie's turn to raise her eyebrow now. Everyone knows the high regard in which he holds Lady Mary and Elsie is beginning to think that perhaps, it is more equally reciprocated than she'd first thought.

"Perhaps you're right," Charles concedes.

"I always am," she replies with a smirk. "Besides, it makes my decision easier."

Charles furrows his brow. "What decision?"

"To retire. With you."

He stares at her, eyes wide and mouth agape. "Retire?"

"Not straight away of course, I think it's only fair to allow Mr Barrow to settle in first. Although, I shouldn't think it will be more than a couple of months."

Ever since it had become apparent that Charles' career would come to an end far earlier than either of them had anticipated or wanted, Elsie has been preparing. She's thought about it long and hard, weighed up the pros and cons of her decision – it had been difficult, but she's sure she's made the right one.

She hadn't discussed it with Charles because she hadn't wanted to add to his burden; he already felt ashamed and guilty and she didn't want to make it worse. She'd sat down with the books from Brounker Road – when Charles' condition had come to light, they'd chosen to rent out the property instead of pursuing the Bed and Breakfast they'd once envisaged, both agreeing that a regular income all year round would be preferable to the uncertainty of a new business, and it was currently occupied by a respectable banker and his family.

"Are you sure?"

She smiles, reaching for his hand and repeats the words he said to her almost a year ago. "I've never been so sure of anything. I've done the sums Charlie. With my pension from the estate and my share of the income from Brouncker Road, I'll be able to continue to pay for Becky's care."

"But you love working, you said it had given you sense of satisfaction, of purpose." On their honeymoon in Scarborough, they'd had time to talk and share stories of their childhoods, their lives before they met. She's confided in him that the main reason she refused Joe's proposal the first time was the pride she felt at working, at earning a wage of her own.

"I do. I've always taken pride in working Charlie and my position here has given me status and plenty of people to care about, but things change. The main reason I've enjoyed being housekeeper here so much was the easy relationship I shared with the butler. And, while I've no doubt Mr Barrow will do a fine job, I can't imagine working with any butler other than you."

He smiles, suddenly the prospect of forced retirement doesn't seem so bad. "Well then-"

There is a hurried knock on the door and Elsie sighs. Yet another interruption. She won't miss those when she retires. "Come in."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Daisy says, entering, "Lady Mary is ringing, but I can't find Anna."

She steals a quick glance at her husband and, satisfied that he is calm now, replies, "No need to bother Anna; I'll go." She squeezes Charles' hand. "I shan't be long."

* * *

Of course, she had been longer than either of them had envisaged, with Anna going into labour. While he had returned to oversee the reception, she had fetched towels, blankets and sheets and then paced the length of downstairs, from the servants' hall to the kitchen and back again, waiting for news.

The news had come shortly after 11 o'clock, Anna had safely delivered of a son, and both mother and baby were doing well. The servants had seen in 1926 as they had seen in previous new years, with a glass of wine (compliments of His Lordship) and a rendition of Auld Lang Syne led, rightfully so, by their Scots housekeeper. All of them, bar Mr and Mrs Carson and Mr Barrow, oblivious to the changes that were afoot for them and their heads of staff in the new year.

"I've been thinking," Charles announces on their walk back to the cottage, "about Mr Barrow."

"Oh?" Elsie asks, trepidation filling her as to what he'll have to say.

"Yes. I think, if he's willing to take on a little bit more tutelage, he'll be a fine butler."

Elsie sighs in relief. "It's cheering to hear you speak of him that way. He's not had an easy time of it…"

"No." Charles doesn't want to dwell of the events of the summer; he still feels guilty for how he'd treated he man. That he could have caused another human being so much distress, chills him to the bone. He vows to help him now, in a gentler way than before. They may not see eye to eye on many things, but Mr Barrow succeeding in his new position as Butler is something that will benefit all those he cares about.

"He'll need a strong housekeeper," Charles continues as their cottage comes into view.

"I've made up my mind," Elsie reminds him. "One he's settled, I'm retiring. I want to. Besides, I thought I could offer to help out Anna with the new baby. I heard talk that he'd be joining the children of the house in the nursery."

Charles is flabbergasted at the mere thought. "In the nursery? You aren't serious?"

"Hmm. It was all Lady Mary's idea, apparently."

Hearing that the idea had come from Lady Mary, Charles is significantly less outraged. "Oh, well… if that's what Lady Mary wants.

Elsie shakes her head her husband, he can be so transparent at times.

"Have you given any thought to your successor?" he asks, shifting her focus. "Miss Baxter may be a good candidate," he suggests.

"She would be a very good candidate," agrees Elsie, "but I foresee a different life for Miss Baxter, one that involves a certain footman-turned-school teacher and a cottage on the estate."

" _If_ either of them ever pluck up the courage to do something about it," he replies.

Elsie smirks, reaching into her handbag for the key to their home. "I hardly think we're in a position to judge, Charlie."

He laughs. "You're probably right. But we got there in the end."

She moves to open the door, but he stops her with a gentle hand on her arm. "Wait here," he tells her before moving to the side of cottage to retrieve a package.

"What on earth…?" she mutters, shaking her head at her husband.

"It's after midnight," he says. "We'll be the first-footers in our cottage." He opens the package to reveal a silver sixpence, a loaf of bread, some salt, a piece of coal, and a bottle of whisky.

"How…?"

"I did a bit of research." He'd caught Dr Clarkson in the village a few days before, and quizzed him about Scottish new year traditions.

She laughs lightly and shakes her head at his enthusiasm. "I can see that. You've certainly gone above and beyond Charlie. No first footer I've ever met had brought every one of the suggested gift."

"I'm nothing if not thorough." He points to the gifts, and lists the things that each of them represent. "Wealth, food, flavour, warmth, and good cheer. I want us to have all those things and more, Elsie. Our first full year as man and wife."

Somewhat overwhelmed by her husband's sudden onset of sentimentality, she finds that word won't come, so she does the only other thing she can think of to show him how touched she is. She kisses him. Right there on the doorstep, and it a far less chaste way than the kiss they'd shared just after midnight.

'It'll be a very different life' he'd told her just before that first kiss and as his lips moved against hers, as he pressed her into the doorframe, he thought about how right he was. It _would_ be a different life. He'd still be a butler without a house, but he'd also be a husband, with a wife to love and cherish. And he intended to do just that.

* * *

 **A/N2:** And that's a wrap... I don't think it's sunk in yet that there will be noe more Downton/Chelsie, well, on screen at least. I fully intend to keep reading fic (and writing if my muse allows) about these too. So much to explore. Post finale fics, what if's, AUs, reflections on who fell in lvoe with who first and when (and when they realised)... there's so much potential. These two could be never ending, and I hope they are.

Happy New Year to all my readers! Hope 2016 brings you all you desire.


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